


The Howler

by silentexplorer18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxious behaviors, Bisexual Harry Potter, Coming Out, Draco is trying his best, Forced coming out, Gay Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Language, Minor Injuries, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Understanding, unsupportive parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22398973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentexplorer18/pseuds/silentexplorer18
Summary: Draco is sent a rather revealing howler.  In a fraction of a second, his whole life changes, but perhaps it's for the best.  You can't choose who you love, but you can choose to love.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 318





	The Howler

**Author's Note:**

> This involves themes of negative reactions to someone coming out, forced coming out, and unsupportive parents. It also involves mild injury and mild to moderate language. Please don't read if those things could trigger you in any way. Your mental health is much more important than this little fic is.  
> Remember that your feelings, your emotions, and your worth are very important. Choose to embrace yourself. Love.

The howler came in a great flurry of mail that morning, and Draco stared at the envelope with a stricken expression. The Malfoy seal was as elegant as ever, a startling familiarity on the otherwise unnatural arrival.

It didn’t screech the way one might expect, just possessed a biting sternness as it informed Draco of the following:

> Your mother and I have found objectionable items in your possession, and write to inform you that we do not condone such homosexual paraphernalia. You will promptly be written out of the Malfoy Family Tree and banished for your choices. You’ve brought great shame on this household, and we feel eradicating you from all family ties is the only way to cleanse us of such an impurity. What few items you’ve left here have been disposed of. Do not come looking for them or contact us further.

Draco sat in stunned silence for a moment before he could register that the entirety of the Great Hall was watching him. Someone cleared their throat, a little cough, and Draco came to his senses. He flushed, rising from his seat and briskly rushing from the room.

It didn’t take long for Harry to find him.

Draco was staring out at the Black Lake, almost entirely shrouded from the Castle’s view by a small thicket. His fist was pressing against a tree, face contorted in agony as everything he thought he possessed was whisked from under his feet. He heard Harry approach.

“Leave me alone, Potter.”

The words were laced with venom, but Harry knew they were no more than a hollow threat. He chuckled, stepping forward a few more paces. “You aren’t that scary, Malfoy. I know you don’t bite.”

“Only because it’s the behavior of plebian swine,” he muttered.

Harry leaned against a tree opposite Draco, fixing him with an amused smile. “You’re not into biting. Good to know.”

His comment was met with a scowl. “As if I’d condescend to shag _you_.”

Harry’s face fell. “I thought you were—” He didn’t know how to finish the question.

“Just because I prefer cock doesn’t mean I don’t have standards, Potter.” _Lies_.

He mocked offense, hand falling against his heart. “And here I thought you _adored_ me, Malfoy.”

Draco was silent at that. It took him a few moments to speak, and when he did, his voice was unsteady, thick with emotion he wouldn’t – _couldn’t_ – express. “I guess I’m not that anymore, either.”

“What?”

“Malfoy.” His voice cracked, shoulders shuddering slightly.

Harry stepped forward again, placing a gentle hand on Draco’s arm. He flinched away at first, but when his red-rimmed eyes met Harry’s alarmingly genuine ones, he slowly relaxed back into the touch. “Perhaps you and I will get along better now that you’re just Draco.” He spluttered an undignified sound, shaking hand covering his face to keep Harry from witnessing his vulnerability. His pain. The gesture sent a pang through Harry’s chest. “May I hug you?” he murmured, desperate to provide some sort of relief from Draco’s grief.

Draco shook his head. _No_. He was moving away from Potter, walking toward the trees, forcing his jelly legs to work properly. “I don’t _hug_ , Potter,” he stated, the phrase coming out surprisingly steady on his tear-slick lips. He didn’t look back.

Harry didn’t follow him again.

Being an Ex Death Eater meant Draco wasn’t particularly liked around school. His friendships had only dwindled further since his forced coming out. As callous as it was, many of the Slytherins took Draco’s societal fall as an excuse to avoid him; they had treated him with kindness out of a desire for power and nothing more. Blaise and Pansy were still kind enough, though Blaise had the nerve to offer an occasional shag, and the Lovegood girl had reached out, offering Draco both an ounce of understanding and some rather confusing advice on avoiding Wrackspurts. Nevertheless, the interaction was appreciated. It must have taken her a great deal of courage to speak to him after everything his family – what was once his family – had done to her.

Draco found himself on his own more often than not, something that provided both peace and torment. He took up writing in a leather bound notebook, something Mother had bought him for a birthday several years prior. Creating lists, plans to keep himself organized, and other such things kept him from going mad with worry that he wasn’t working toward getting himself on his feet. Most of the time, he balanced those writings with notes on potions he wished to learn or things he needed to research. As much as he would’ve loved to become a healer, he knew his status as “ex domestic terrorist” put a damper on such aspirations. Thankfully, he enjoyed potions, and excelled in them to boot. Someone might be willing to buy a potion or two from him. Hopefully.

On rare days, usually the worst ones, Draco could be found scribbling away in his journal with hopes and dreams. Wishes, really, that would never come true. They _couldn’t_. Not now. Usually his wishes brought him to tears, but he willed them away as best as he could. Malfoys weren’t meant to cry.

Such pain was inevitable, though.

It was a breezy afternoon, comfortably warm, when Draco had climbed a quidditch stand, blurry eyes causing him to stumble as he attempted to push the day from his mind. Someone had grabbed him in the hallway, hand like a fiery brand around his left arm, and shoved him into the wall. Using all his strength, Draco had tried to shove the boy off, eventually breaking away enough to bolt down the hall and out of the Dungeons, but even then, the boy’s words still whirled through his mind.

_Coward._

_Murderer._

_You shouldn’t be alive._

_Your dad should have killed you when he kicked you out of that bloody Manor._

_You deserve this. You deserve to hurt for what you did to my family._

_You followed Voldemort. You don’t deserve to be here._

_Fucking killer._

The pitch was mostly quiet - only a few kids messed about without a proper game on. Draco kept in the shadows, collapsing in a corner and tucking his head into his knees. His breathing was rapid, and he pressed his thumbnail into the pad of his middle finger to focus on something else. It _hurt_. It hurt to watch his life dwindle away because he’d fought on the wrong side of the war. Because he’d been saved from Azkaban. Because his parents felt attraction was a choice.

He had been meant to marry Astoria Greengrass.

If he’d only kept up the façade, things would be different now.

But _Merlin_ , Astoria Greengrass was anything but what he wanted. She’d known it too, in the way his eyes wouldn’t light up at the sight of her, at the way he halfheartedly returned her kisses. There had been no attraction there.

But then he would’ve been Malfoy. He would’ve had a little power, a little money to his name. _Something_ to start him on his feet. Someone to love him.

Either way it hurt.

He stayed in a ball, hoping whoever was clomping up the stairs wouldn’t see him. Or would see him and walk the other way. _Please in the name of Salizar don’t let it be two teens come snogging_ , he silently begged.

It wasn’t.

The footsteps came toward him, but Draco didn’t dare look. Staying in a ball would at least protect most of his organs when the kicking started, as it inevitably would. There was shifting beside him, a rustling of fabric, and then a touch on his shoulder. “Draco?”

 _Potter_.

Draco reeled away from him, eyes wide with panic. Of all times, now had to be when Potter chose to exact revenge. Great. But Potter’s hands were raised like he was attempting to tame a wild beast. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt– fuck, are you okay? Why do you have a black eye?”

He coughed, leaning against the wall uneasily, trying to appear a little more put together in front of his enemy. “It comes with being a– well, with being _me_ , I guess.” The word Malfoy was left unspoken.

Apparently the bloke had hit him harder than he’d realized. It was the least he deserved. But Harry didn’t seem to think so, eyes squinting at the purple stain in dismay. “Can I heal it?” he asked, still keeping his distance.

He hated being treated like a wild animal, like a _creature_ , but perhaps he deserved that, too. Potter seemed alarmed with him. But evidently he looked worse for wear. His eyes always did get terribly puffy on the rare occasions he cried; the black eye couldn’t have been improving the situation any. That didn’t mean he wasn’t stubborn, though.

Draco turned his face away, gaze focusing on the horizon. “No. I’ll do it myself. Later.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like being touched,” he said stiffly. Malfoys don’t like being touched. Regardless of whether he was technically a part of the family or not, the trait had been ingrained in his bones.

Harry nodded. “I understand. Would you mind if I still sit with you?”

“I suppose I’ll allow it,” he smirked, wit returning as his panic ebbed slightly. He was rubbing his fingers together, an odd habit. It was soothing, self-reassuring, in a way, and was one of his much less noticeable anxious ticks.

Harry moved to a comfortable position, smoothing his hands on his jeans as he sat. “Other than your eye, are you okay?”

Draco nodded. “I didn’t even realize I had it, quite honestly.” He gestured to his face, but the movement was tense, uncoordinated.

Harry’s hand squeezed his own knee, the denim wrinkling around his fingers. “I’m sorry about whatever happened. Some people can be absolute pricks.”

He chuckled. “I probably deserved it. You of all people should know I’m not particularly,” a pause, “agreeable.”

“Even then, people shouldn’t go around punching you. There are better ways to solve issues.”

“We never seemed to think so.” The statement is dry. He doesn’t say it to be insulting or to bring up problems of the past; it’s merely an acknowledgement of their history.

“And now we’re here having a civil conversation.”

“Civil’s a bit of a stretch, in _my_ opinion.”

Harry grins. Draco’s drawl is familiar. He missed when they used to push each other’s buttons. He likes it even more when Draco’s not using it to push him away. “Git.”

“Wanker.”

Draco’s smirking, too. Harry can tell out of the corner of his eye.

A comfortable silence settles between them as Harry’s mind travels back to the past. They used to be so good at irritating each other, one remark flaming the fire of the next. It had felt nice back then, to get really angry at someone, to be able to let out all that he was feeling. Perhaps Harry had been Draco’s emotional escape, too.

Draco’s mind was elsewhere, though, traveling through all that had transpired in the last few weeks. He’d gone from having so much to having hardly anything in the blink of an eye. Now he was sitting here with Potter of all people. Potter who seemed to care about him for some ridiculous reason.

“Why did you come find me that day?” Draco blurted. He gulped. It was too late to go back now. “After the howler, I mean.”

He scratched his neck; Draco could see the movement in his peripheral. Harry’s answer was awkwardly stated, but nevertheless true. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“But you _hate_ me.” Draco’s cheeks rise in a blush, and he can feel his bruise begin to throb slightly.

“I don’t hate you.”

Potter’s voice is disarmingly genuine, and Draco can feel his cheeks heat further. “But why come talk to me?”

Harry’s hand is rubbing circles on his jeans, neverending, calming. Something he started after the war. The circles keep going. _Life_ keeps going. “I could sympathize with you.” Draco made a noise at that, amused disbelief. Harry sent him a stern glance. “Coming out isn’t the easiest thing. Especially when you didn’t choose yourself to do it. So I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Draco turned toward him, mouth agape. “You’re?”

“Bi,” he confirmed.

Draco leaned back against the wall again, letting his already messy hair catch on the wood. “Wow.”

A barked laugh. “ _Wow_? That’s hardly eloquent, Draco.”

“ _Excuse me_ for being surprised. It’s not something I would expect you to blurt so casually.”

“Why not? It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Draco stopped at that, playful laugher dying on his tongue. Being anything other than straight was something his family had never approved of. It’s why the House of Black had shattered. But how could love be shameful? How could caring for a man make him any less worth loving? “I suppose it’s not.”

The trees were rustling in the distance, wind picking up as the sun began to fall in the sky. There were still people outside, the occasional faint voice could be heard, but otherwise it was peaceful. Letting out a breath, Draco realized he was more at peace than he’d been in weeks, months, _years_. And it was with Potter. Potter who had come to check on him twice now. Potter who saw past his parent’s scrutiny. Potter who saw past his Dark Mark. _Harry_.

“Potter,” Draco said, breaking their silence. “My face hurts.”

Harry shifted slightly beside him. “Would you like me to do the healing charm?”

“If you’d like.”

Harry turned to face him fully now, hand reaching out to gently cup Draco’s cheek. He winced at first before pressing into the touch.

The charm was mumbled, and Draco mused in faint wonder that Harry could perform this spell wandlessly. He’d always known Harry was powerful, but he’d never assumed he’d take the time to practice something so complex wandlessly.

He felt his eye cool, but his cheek was hot under Harry’s hand. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome.” Harry continued cupping Draco’s cheek, voice low as he spoke to him. “Why don’t you like being touched?”

His voice caught in his throat, and the reply came out rushed, jerky. “Malfoys don’t touch often. Only hands. Shoulders. Elbows on occasion.”

“But you aren’t a Malfoy.” Draco shook his head. He wasn’t one anymore. He could love. He could want. He could dream beyond pure bloodlines and power now. “You’re Draco.” He nodded, eyes fluttering shut. The touch of Potter’s hand, his low voice, it was comforting. Validating. He may have been on the bad side of the war, but Harry could see him as _Draco_. “What does Draco want?”

He held his breath, the answer dancing in the back of his mind. Harry _knew_ what he wanted. But he had to say it. He had to trust Potter. They’d destroyed one another over the years, but they could rebuild each other, too. All Draco had to do was make that choice.

“Kiss me?”

So Harry did.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't really know where I was going with this at first, but I ended up with something I think I like. I wanted to explore the idea of Draco battling the part of himself that _wants_ to love with the part of him that believes his parents know what's best for him. Through time and Potter's quite blatant understanding, he can begin to realize that choosing to love who he wants is okay. And that even though he isn't the best person in the world (in his eyes), he still does deserve the same love and understanding and compassion as everyone else. He can choose to not be a Malfoy. To be Draco. And to embrace himself without fear of rejection. I don't know if I really got that across well, but I tried. I hope you enjoyed reading. As of right now, I'm satisfied with this being somewhat concise, but in the future, I may go in and revamp parts of it or add more to it. I kind of like the idea of it being a little blip in their lives, but self-love can take time and contain regressions, so what's depicted here is certainly not them finding some sort of pretty ending where tada everything is perfect. So I may come back and mess with this in the future. We'll see.  
> Anyway, I'm rambling a bit, aren't I? You can find me on [Tumblr](https://silentexplorer18.tumblr.com/) if you'd like. I hope you're having a lovely day.


End file.
